


Et sic incipit

by TheRustyTaint



Series: Two of a Kind [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRustyTaint/pseuds/TheRustyTaint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working through the Sith Academy is a dangerous task. One should always be mindful of their fellow Acolytes, because underestimation can get you killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This began as me making NPC characters for a table top D20 game of Starwars I was running. Swtor had been out for almost a year, and I decided to use that timeline because there was so much source material to go off of now. The game went longer and the storyline developed deeper than I ever thought it would. It's to the point now that my friend has pushed me to begin writing it down as short stories, so I'm doing just that.
> 
> In my game, the crew of the Loki's Luck had to deal with two unusual Sith at one point. That was the first part of what will now be a trilogy. In the second part, the two have resurfaced again, with a deeper issue driving their actions. THAT is how I got the inspiration to write a series of back stories on how they met.
> 
> I tagged the characters involved as Sith I. and Sith W. because these two were originally the two characters me and my husband created on SWTOR. We ran them all the way through the original game and now through the Makeb expansion. However, in my story they had graduated from the Sith Academy while it was still on Drommund Kaas and even participated in the last few battles of the war at very young ages.
> 
> I suppose I'm doing this as a way to archive my story as I put it up piece by piece. Hope you still find it an entertaining read. Looking for a beta currently. I know my writing is pretty sub par.
> 
> I currently have this posted on Fanfiction.net as well under another author name. But when I get to writing the more mature-adult themed material I don't want the friends and family that frequent FF.net to read it. Some how it's easier for strangers to read my smut and violence. So any and all M rated work I do will be here.

Oculi vestri mentiar tibi

The normally noisy and active jungles of Drommund Kaas were silent as he moved along the path. The canopy filtered any light, leaving the ground level shadowed even during mid day.

The winding dirt road had been cleared by slaves and frequently patrolled by wildlife containment squads. It led through the dense canopy towards the ruins of the mighty and foreboding Dark Temple.

On the outskirts of the Temple complex were hundreds of tombs of powerful Sith lords of past glory. Nothing to rival Korriban, but ominous markers of history regardless. Soon new force sensitives would take their training on the reclaimed world, as the academy was scheduled for relocation when construction was finished. Until that day, they would continue to train here.

He held no illusions. His training would be finished here, and he would likely never set foot on Korriban. It was only a matter of time before all of his rivals would fall by his blade and Darth Anguis would take him as an apprentice. It was only right. He was a pure blood, born to lead the Empire and those of lesser birth. He was well schooled in history and prepared to maneuver the tombs to finish this task. If anyone or anything opposed him, they would meet their bloody end.

The Hythwynd family had a long, proud history. Its members were arrogant, dangerous and respected. The Sith it produced became great warriors, and the soldiers turned into leaders. Moff Hythwynd currently commanded one of the highest ranked vanguard fleets in the Empire.

As a Hythwynd, Aegir had much expected of him. The pure blood intended to exceed those expectations, and then murder the owners.

Lighting threaded the skies, and the first of the tomb spires were now visible down the path. This was it, and any acolyte he encountered was fair game.

The tomb had all the markers of being visited recently. There were glow lamps, cases of archeological supplies, abandoned weapons. A scream echoed from somewhere inside the gaping maw of the entrance.

Confidence and power flowed through his veins. He hefted his saber from its resting spot upon his back. The crimson arm band marking him as one of Anguis's acolytes stood a stark contrast from the gray shadow silk trappings he'd been sent there with. Someone was going to die in there, and he would revel in the bloodshed.

The thought of time in the tunnels failed to faze him even slightly. Acolytes could spend days, and even weeks out here until their appointed task was completed. Some came from powerful families and would try to bring themselves every advantage possible. He would not dishonor himself in such a fashion.

Day two in the jungle had him looking for the easier way into the tombs, avoiding the traps laid for lesser explorers. Great Sith built these tombs and they were no fools. His patience and insight would pay off, as he discovered a blocked passage. While working the stone puzzle, he noticed patterns in the soil at his feet. The indentations indicated someone had been there recently. A closer inspection of the stones revealed discoloration. The ancient stones, which had not been handled for centuries, had been used of late. One other acolyte within the structure possibly had the wisdom to survive. Noted.

Venturing into the tomb through this entrance had Aegir realizing very quickly that this was the safest and easiest path for use. The way lay above the intricate and sinister carvings and statues of Dark Lords past. It also bypassed the myriad of traps meant to ensnare any grave robbers or defilers. He felt a sense of elation at the success.

He crept along the passage at a slow but steady pace, cautious of making noise. Cob webs and dust assaulted his face, but the pure blood pushed forward. Subtle shifts in the webs and slight draft had him pausing, before he realized he was standing at a two way intersection. Which path was correct, was unclear.

Deeming the chance acceptable, Aegir used the small chem light in his belt. The foot prints weren't hard to find in the thick layers of dust. Left it is then.

Eventually a traces of light would begin dancing across the walls, and he knew it was time to put the light away. As he had suspected earlier, the path lead on a primitive stone cat walk that criss crossed above a wide, open, man made cavern. This path was made for those possessing intelligence and cunning. Voice floated up from below, imperial accents discussing the loss of a comrade to the traps hidden among the tombs.

Calling every ounce of caution and stealth the pure blood was capable of, he slowly moved towards the edge. Chancing a glance, he was afforded a view of the scene below him.

Several acolytes were on the verge of an argument. He had only just began to listen, but Aegir quickly picked up on the focal point. These were acolytes from affluent, wealthy families. They had agreed to ally with each other temporarily and pool resources to make it out alive. This included having soldiers leave them supplies hidden in the jungle. According to the one currently speaking, the ration packs, water, and respirators were missing. Technically this was cheating but one would have to be caught for that rule to apply.

Personally he viewed them all as weaklings and committed the face of each to memory. Their deaths would be quick and insignificant.

Movement, barely discernible in the faint light, caught his attention. It had been slight, and Aegir had resisted jerking his head towards it.

When he did manage to focus on it, what he saw was both ironic and humorous.

A skinny, rag draped and slave marked slip of an acolyte was sitting on a separate portion of the catwalk, silently eating what Aegir strongly suspected was the missing ration packs. He didn't recognize the person immediately and could only recall brief glimpses of him at the academy. He was a disgrace to the Sith traditions. Slaves did not rise above their station. Often in the mess hall he would be blocked from receiving meals, and barred from sleeping in the dormitories. Completely by other acolytes of course. Yet here he was, reaping the spoils of out maneuvering individuals with exceedingly more envious pedigrees.

The pureblood barely contained his snicker.

The disagreement below had bloomed into a outright argument promising to end in violence. His eyes darted back down to watch the idiots kill each other.

When he was disappointed, he searched for the slave acolyte once more, but without success. Seemed the wretch smart enough to keep moving as well.

Aegir knew this would not be the last time he encountered the scrawny, pitiful excuse for an acolyte.


	2. Chapter2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If given the chance, people can show their true colors without even meaning to.

Blood pooled and spilled from the acolytes lips and he clawed at the pure bloods hands, trying to find purchase in the struggle to breathe. The effort only made him more frantic, spittle flying as panic truly set in. The coward could not even die with dignity. Pathetic.

He ended the embarrassing moment with the simplest application of strength. The acolytes body jerked, and when Aegir released his neck the head lay at an unnatural angle. It left the chamber silent and plain feeling.

How this tomb could be a plain, with it's grandiose statues and intricate wall carvings, was just absurd. Even in the dull glow of the chem lights, the inner decor of this place was the stuff nightmares were made of.

It was day three, and half a dozen acolytes had fallen to his hand already. Weak, stupid, vapid creatures half scared of their own shadows. Appalled at the conditions they were forced to complete their tasks in to the point that their guards had been low and he had ended their ability to pollute the order any further.

The body would stay here to rot. It was as good as it deserved. Aegir wiped the blood and spit onto his trousers and retrieved his blade from where it had been knocked from his hands. The arch way loomed at the end of the elongated chamber, beckoning darkly to him. His goal was not far. The ancient tomb held what he needed.

The pure blood's foot steps crunched in the sand dust, his stride even and measured until something else caught the ear.

At first, he would have sworn the environment and ambience was playing tricks on him. But when it repeated, he was assured of his sanity.

A quiet tenor from behind him said clearly with a highland accent, "I wouldn't if I were you."

Aegir turned slowly. Sitting at the base of a multi-tiered statue, chewing slowly on a ration bar, was the rag covered acolyte. He was smeared with dust and grime, and had a hood covering most of his head. The slave mark over the right eye was still painfully visible.

It occurred to the pureblood that he had sat there listening to the final struggles of the last victim. And done nothing. Because he could do nothing, or didn't care? It didn't matter. Aegir narrowed his amber eyes.

"Of course you wouldn't, worm. Your kind are not meant for this."

The considerably smaller wretch rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I get it. Slave, scum, insolent curr, freak. I've heard it all and then some. I was talking about using that passage."

His fingers twitched, muscle memory aching to reach for his blade, instincts on the verge of attack. But he resisted. This was interesting. The little tunnel rat had a backbone. Or he was bold to the point of stupidity? How old was he?

"Explain yourself, before I end your miserable existence." He gestured aggressively.

The rags hung off of him, and were poor fitting. This much was obvious when he moved to stand. The motion was quick and silent. He didn't waste the energy to swipe away dirt. He swallowed the last bite of the ration bar. Aegir noted that he had no weapons visible.

When he spoke, it was in the same tone. He was keeping his voice from echoing.

"The other acolytes with the red arm bands have started working together against you. I think there's four of them down the hall waiting. They've been setting up the ambush for hours."

Skepticism kept a smart Sith alive. "You expect me to believe that tripe? Either you're unfamiliar with Sith culture, or you're attempting to be cunning. I strongly suspect the former." He noticed the lines on the slaves face from sleep deprivation. But his eyes were wide and bright, highly alert.

"That stunt you pulled in the east antechamber scared them. You took out two of them at the same time. Not a scratch. You painted the proverbial target on your back and the walls with their blood. No where to fall from that pedestal but down."

So the rat had been hanging around. Interesting. How had he remained hidden?

"Better to be at the top than scraping at the bottom like you." He sneered.

His scrawny conversation partner shrugged. "No one pays attention to what they walk on, until it's being pulled out from beneath them."

That, was a very good point.

"What is your angle? I grow impatient with this exchange. I should rid my self of you and be done with it slave."

A deep exhale. "Look. You didn't let the idiots in the hall know I was above them eating their food yesterday. I don't leave debts."

"It was no favor. I would not lower my self. " The pureblood's voice was gaining a dangerous edge.

"Fine. But I would want to know if I was walking into a trap. My lord." The last part was laced with sarcasm. "I'll remove my self from your noble presence. Wouldn't want my filth to rub off on you." He made to mock bow.

Only it wasn't mocking. The bow was clean and practiced.

The smaller acolyte moved slowly away from him, careful not to show the sith born his back. This was no fool.

Aegir entertained the thought of chasing him down and ending his life, but thought better of it.

When he turned back to the archway, the former slaves words echoed in his mind.

Caution had seen him into the ruins safely. Caution would be required to have him exit successful and in one piece.

When he looked for an alternative route, he told himself it was what he would have done anyway.

When he discovered the slave had been correct about the ambush, he conceded the lowly mans advice had been sound.

When he happened upon the poisoned vibro blades hidden within their tunics, he knew that joke of an acolyte had saved his life.

The dark pink stains on the blade was a dead give away for the Koorlak toxin. It was a deadly neurological agent that paralyzed in moments. He knew this because his families estates held one of the few labs able to process the pollen correctly. Among the ambushers corpses was a rival family with the same capabilities.

Using a piece of tunic ripped from the bodies, he covered the familial insignia on the hilt of the blade. This could be useful later.

For now, he could see the entrance to the Sith Lords tomb. The tablet he required was housed within.

Elation swelled in his mind when he found the doors undisturbed. No one else had ventured forth and retrieved it yet.

The trek back through the jungle seemed longer than before. His heart thudded, and his grip tightened around his blade at every noise. This was the most dangerous part. Any rival could snatch his victory away. When one tried, near the entrance to the jungle, he cut down the small warrior with a ferocity born of sustaining his trials completion. Nothing would stand in his way.

_______________________________________________________________________

The dormitories in the academy put two students to a room. It only opened the door for more trouble, but the overseer's only encouraged their acolytes to embrace their cunning and subterfuge. Attacking each other outright, without a mutual declaration of a duel, was grounds for dismissal and execution. But if a rival were to turn up dead or incapacitated with no explanation, what could be done?

Many of Aegirs rivals had been killed out in the jungle over the last three days. He would surely make more.

Other acolytes avoided him as he walked through the common areas, as they should. The hatred seeped off many of them. Good.

Outside the door to his bunk, he caught sight of an altercation at the end of the hall. The lights were dim, but he could see it clearly. The tattered hood and hunched shoulders. Light hit the slave mark over the right eye, right before a larger mans fist connected with his nose. Blood flecked on to the steel grey walls, and the aggressor grunted something in basic before walking away.

The tunnel rat stood there, blood dripping down his face like a small crimson fountain. He looked first at the palm of his hand, catching the fluid like a small red pool. Then cerulean eyes slowly traveled down the hall, no doubt burning holes into his attackers back. Finally, he turned his head slowly and made eye contact with the pure blood.

Nothing in his posture asked for help. None was offered. No, instead Aegir could feel the intent dripping off of him. The silent promise of revenge in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it. Leave a review if so inclined. :)


	3. Chapter3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrogance and underestimation can be a deadly combination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, heres part three. I have to say- I hate writing combat. I have these amazing fight scenes in my head, but god am I awful at writing them down. ROAR! I'm struggling to convey their separate personalities in the way I want.

He excelled at combat training, absorbing everything the instructors offered and perfecting his technique. Each opponent was brutalized and humiliated. There were few, if any challenges left for him to spar with.

His class was filled with those who best used strength, skill, and ferocity to over come their enemies. You kept up or were cut. One by one the weak were culled from the herd, ensuring only the best made it into the Sith order.

When Aegir saw the opening in his opponents defenses, he maneuvered his blade and relieved the idiot of his. From there it took less effort than breathing to finish him, delivering the last heavy blow to his ribs.

The acolyte gasped, air leaving his lungs with the satisfying crack of breaking ribs.

If this had been something other than a sparring match, he would have been cleaved in two. But this time it was merely humiliation and lower status in the eyes of the overseers and other acolytes.

Rage was still flowing, and the pure blood barely heard the overseer order him to the side of the ring. He willed him self to remain calm, and bury the fury for another time. Medics drug the body of the loser away, and he took a moment to survey the training arena.

Mass combat training such as this was designed to have many functions. The obvious aside, it grouped all of the acolytes together while giving each the chance to glimpse the others capabilities. It exposed the weak, and created rivalries and alliances to bring down the strong and reckless. Humiliation at a loss could drive potential to the surface. Success could embolden one to stupidity. The cycle kept the students on a razors edge, always preparing to adapt. It was here overseers could act on their favoritism through the match making.

Aegir suspected Overseer Jakun wasn't fond of the acolyte now sporting broken ribs.

Armbands of varied colors identified the master each student was fighting to apprentice under. Those without armbands would have to work twice as hard to attract a master, lest they be swept aside to a position such as armorer or beast handler. The disgrace alone would be worth suicide.

He leaned lazily against the wall, waiting for the next match up. A glance at the dark tinted windows above them left him with the impression more were watching than they had been led to believe. Good. Darth Anguis could watch him annihilate the competition.

Next to Jakun was Overseer Laskin. She was a half withered, bitter bitch that enjoyed treating all but her favorites like garbage. She had a special disdain for those of less than noble birth.

Though several other acolytes would wander partially into his vision, he was interested in seeing who she was setting up this time. Favoritism was strictly forbidden for the overseers, but when you had allies and connections like she did, small indiscretions such as this were easily forgotten.

Laskin was a small woman, but her voice carried. "Slave! Get over here."

The crowed parted and the hunched figure of the 'tunnel rat' moved forward. He'd been standing at the back the entire time, and not once had Aegir noticed him. That didn't sit well inside.

Though this was the first good look he had gotten.

He was of medium height. The tattered hood still covered his head, and two bright eyes stared out from under it. The slave mark drew attention despite the mussed brown hair scattered over it. His cloths were ill fitting, giving the impression that he was even skinnier. He had acquired a practice blade since the last time the pure blood had seen him, but it looked out of place on his back. A week and he still had dark circles under his eyes from the broken nose. Obvious sleep deprivation again.

"I'm tired of seeing you skulk in the back Slave. Lets see if you're managed to learn anything in the time you've been polluting our sacred academy."

The crowd of acolytes jeered, insults and threats tossed about. Laskin held up her hand for silence, and it came immediately.

"Acolyte Rhagon, you will fight this wretch and show him what it is to be a Sith."

The bruiser responsible for the tunnel rat's broken nose pushed his way into the sand circle. How fitting.

The brutes expression was dark with eager sadism. He smiled deeply and said "I'm going to enjoy this far too much."

They stood facing, Rhagon with his blade drawn and the slave doing a good impression of a tensed coil.

Rhagon struck first, executing an impressive attack. It missed, the target darting to the side and rolling into a crouch, much like a cat. He swung again, with the slave repeating his evasive maneuver.

The larger man retaliated by getting in close, aiming for the head. His smaller opponent dodged twice before bending over backwards so far, his nose could have touched the sand.

Before the practice blade could make contact with his solar plexis, the slave twisted from the arch into a crouch, finally drawing and blocking with his weapon.

It was then that Aegir pushed off the wall and moved closer. The evasions were text book, if sloppily executed. Where had a slave that was repeatedly chased from the practice rooms learned that? Now this was getting really interesting.

Gasps and grunts of admiration/surprise from the crowd only fueled Rhagons anger, and he landed a knee to the slaves chest, and a fist to the jaw. The smaller fighter stumbled, barely recovering. He moved away, never turning his back and remaining low, ready to spring.

The fight lasted longer than any of the acolytes had expected it to. The slave continued to evade Rhagon, much to the acolytes fury and humiliation. When he did swing, it was an attempt at precision. Messy, undisciplined fighting. But the technique was there. He waited until he thought he knew exactly the best time to strike.

The slave swung less, and yet landed effective hits. Rhagon favored his left leg, now bleeding steadily. Aegir felt the corners of his mouth tug up in a grin. One could not deny a good fight when it was directly in front of them.

The moment did not last long though. Rhagon struck hard, and the tunnel rat lost his grip on the blades hilt. Blood was dripping from his split lip, and now he stood weaponless. The lengthy battle had taken its toll on both their stamina's. Each was flagging. However, Rhagon looked as though he was better fed and trained.

It wasn't hard to guess what would happen next.

Atleast the fight had been interesting while it lasted. The pure blood waited for the bigger acolyte to land the finishing blow. The slave would lose.

"Get on with it. Finish him Rhagon. Send the filth back to slave pens finally." Laskin hissed. Jakun was silent beside her, but had his eyes trained on the fighters.

Rhagon swung, and the slave ducked. But when he came up, attempting to jab, the bigger man kicked him squarely in the chest.

The bundle of skinny limbs and tattered rags went flying, landing with an audible thump against a support pillar.

Rhagon laughed, and Aegir was struck by the extreme feeling of dislike for the acolyte. The back of his mind tingled with the desire to shove his face into the sand.

The slave rolled to his side and moved to get up. His opponent would have none of it, and delivered a swift kick in the ribs. "Stay down slave."

Laskin should have called it, but she stood there smiling discreetly to herself. Jakun narrowed his eyes. The crowd cheered.

Blood stained spittle dripped from his lips, and he muttered something breathlessly.

"What was that you piece of shit?" Rhagon mock turned an ear towards the fighter struggling to stand.

The slave stood, and slowly straightened. The look on his face one of intense focus.

"I said, your mother told me to stay down last night, you manky git."

Aegirs mouth nearly dropped at the brilliance, the audacity. Rhagon roaring his fury, and swung his blade wild.

When he attacked, the slave dropped and slid to his knees, coming up behind his opponent. Before Rhagon could turn, the wretch delivered a solid hook kick between his legs.

The bigger acolyte hunched over, swinging again.

"You are beneath me scum!"

The slaves face twisted violently in anger. It seeped off him, and everyone in the room could feel it.

"Then start watching where you walk!" The rag covered hand latched onto Rhagon's face, over his right eye. The energy flowed from the slaves hand, directly into his victims face.

The man screamed, but could not dislodge the hand from his face. He kicked wildly, pathetically flailing and wailing like a child. The light from the force lighting illuminated the shocked expressions of the lookers on. Seconds seemed to stretch on forever, and the room filling with the tangle electricity of dark force power.

It was Overseer Jakun that finally yelled, "ENOUGH."

The slave relinquished his hold instantly. Backing away and eyeing the instructor warily.

Jakun stepped forward.

"The victor here is clear." He said calmly, gesturing to the slave and causing more murmurs from the crowd.

"You can't be serious Jakun. You would call that bit of dirty fighting a victory? And he used the force. No acolyte today has allowed to utilize the force in their matches."

"Did you forbid them from it, or did they simply not use it?"

"It is a known rule!" She was begining to get irate, while Jakun retained his calm.

"Just last week you allowed Acolyte Deamos to kill his rival in practice combat using force techniques. I'll not hear an argument on the rules from you Laskin." The old woman snapped her mouth shut, but held the sour look on her face.

"No decent Sith would fight like that."Rhagon muttered from the ground.

Jakun raised a brow and walked over to him. "And why is that acolyte?"

Rhagon held his hand over his eye socket, and grimaced in pain before answering," Cheap taunts? Dodging like it's a children's game? Street fighting? Where is the merit in that?"

Jakun tilted his head and spoke clearly. "Are you angry that you fell for it? Because that is no ones fault but your own, acolyte. If you had bothered to learn about the order which you are endeavoring to join, you would know one of the most vital Sith for the war effort has perfected evasionary combat into an art form. Darth Pravus is responsible for the assassination of three Jedi council members and eight Republic generals to date. He has waded behind enemy lines filled with Jedi to achieve his objectives. Would you tell him that his tactics are unworthy of the Sith?"

"No." Rhagon said, cowed into defeat.

"But the use of force lighting, no matter how impressive at this stage in his training cannot be ignored Jakun." Laskin was insistent.

Before Jakun could offer his rebuttal, another voice cut him off.

"I would beg to differ." It was a high, clear, cultured imperial voice. It sounded amused. Upon seeing it's owner, every acolyte dropped into a respectful stance.

Laskin bowed. "Darth Fractious. To what do we owe the honor of this visit my lord?"

The Darth continued to approach the area, and his robes moving in a way that appeared almost ethereal.

"I witnessed the match from my chambers above and felt compelled to see the conclusion in person. If an acolyte possess's the ability to wield force lighting in combat, so early in training, I find my self very interested in it." The smooth silver of the mask turned and regarded the slave. Then it snapped towards Laskin. "Do not stifle talent, overseer, simply because you disapprove of the source from which it springs."

The old woman visibly grit her teeth. "Yes my lord."

"This is a grouping I will watch more closely. This one in particular." He nodded at the bowed head of the rag covered student.

The Darth continued past them, saying nothing else. The tension of the area seemed to lesson. Darth Fractious had a dangerous reputation.

"I think thats enough for the day. " Jakun said, dismissing the students.

__________________________________________________________________

Aegir checked the common areas, searching for the tunnel rat. He had not been seen since Darth Fractious's visit to the sparring ring. That was hours ago.

He wanted to speak with him. The nagging feeling left by unanswered questions would not dissipate otherwise. And the pure blood always got what he wanted.

Whispers in the halls and mess area were about the fight, and the slaves show of force powers. Until now some had even doubted his ability to harness the energy, and now they knew he could wield power that took years to master. The informations reception was mixed.

Aegir ignored them. Idiots and those of little importance gossiped. He had neither the time or patience for them.

Physically looking for the slave was proving to be a waste of time. He should have known it would not be so easy. The small acolyte did have a penchant for laying low.

The pureblood paused in an empty corridor, and closed his eyes while reaching out with the force. The area was thick with force sensitives, and trained minds; he had to wade through a quagmire of energies before picking up on the one that seemed familiar. Had he not felt it only hours ago, he wouldn't have been successful. But Aegir had once been jokingly called a force blood hound by a sibling, as he was usually able to find what ever he was looking for. He broke his older brothers nose for the comment.

On the fringes of the academy, one of the few out doors areas the acolytes were allowed to wander, he found his objective. He retracted his mind and made for the enclosure.

The night air was cool. The planet was moving into it's colder seasons. There was just enough light to illuminate the walk ways here. The enclosure wasn't large, and the slave had to be present some where. Impatience was causing anger to rise inside him. Where was he?

"Are you following me?" Asked a tenor behind him.

More anger bubbled at having his back exposed. He turned and saw the slave curled into a sitting position at the foot of a Sith statue, eating an apple.

"Dinner was several hours ago."

"You're right." He took another bite," But you didn't come here to talk about my eating habits." An eyebrow raised at the silent question.

"Where have you been getting your combat training?"

"Wow, right to the point with you."

Aegir slashed the air with his hand. "I do not have the patience for games slave."

He huffed out a breath from his perch on the statue before kicking out a leg and leaning back.

"I have a name."

The pure blood narrowed his eyes. He supposed the slave deserved that much consideration, after the impressive display earlier.

"What is it then?" He crossed his arms, projecting his impatience.

"Faing," he said, using an exaggerated facial expression.

Aegir narrowed his eyes further. When he considered the former slaves emerging personality, it only seemed fitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darth Fractious is a pretty nasty NPC from my game as well. My players hated him in the most awesome way. But to be honest, the guy was a huge jerkwad. Not a good guy in any way. No redeeming qualities. Great Sith ya know?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting a foundation, even if you're not aware of it.

The more he talked to the slave, named Faing, the more he became aware that intelligence lingered just below the quiet facade. Intelligence and sarcasm. And flippancy.

Aegir got the impression he was probably slapped a lot by his former masters. His repeated interactions with Faing had obviously caused some bravery to develop in the slave, at-least where he was concerned.

"Now that I know your name, tell me were you have been practicing your combat, Faing."

He swallowed another bite of the apple. "And I should tell you, why?"

"Do not test my patience, little man."

"Or what, exactly?" Faing stood up, finishing the apple and chucking the core over the rail into the jungle. "You're going to hit me? Humiliate me? Kill me? Not that I doubt your sincerity, my lord, but take a moment if you will to imagine how many times I have heard these threats before. How many times they've been followed through, barring the last one obviously. I've come to the point where I don't care anymore. If it's going to happen, there is very little I can do to prevent it for now."

Aegir raised his brow at the response. Very little there he was inclined to disagree with. The remnants of the black eyes and broken nose stood testament. But the conversation was far from over.

"Learning your place and watching your mouth would be a start." It was a statement, not a threat, but it came out laced with sarcasm.

Faing rolled his head and fixed the pureblood with an impudent look. "Aren't I supposed to be learning how to be Sith here? And besides, where would the fun be if I didn't get the herd animals all riled up like the simpletons they so often are."

The answer was surprising, and brought an unexpected upturn to the conversation. Aegir resisted grinning. It was a very sith-like answer. He was about to say something but Faing beat him to it.

"And I didn't say I wouldn't tell you. I just asked why I should." His hand went into his pockets and his shoulders returned to their usual hunched state.

Aegir grinned in spite of himself. "What are you scared of?"

"If you haven't noticed, my survival kind of depends on my performance here. I need my secrets for that. Not all of us can stroll through the Sith Academy with our bloody eyes closed."

That last jab was directed towards him. Aegir wasn't sure exactly what it was that was making him less and less inclined to kill Faing. But the murderous contempt he felt for most other individuals had ebbed away where the former slave was concerned. It was something he was going to have to think on.

For now, he was genuinely interested to see how Faing had been getting around the other Acolytes antics. Repeatedly he'd seen him blocked from the mess hall, the training rooms, the research library, and even the dorms. Vaguely the pure blood recalled seeing the smaller man sleeping curled in a corner in the common areas.

"If I swear on my honor, will you tell me?"

Faing leveled a suspicious gaze at him. "Why are you so intent on knowing?"

Aegir crossed his arms, pushing down the impatience. "Intelligence and cunning are two qualities I value."

"And how am I supposed to trust you? I don't know you. Sith don't trust each other."

He was correct in this. However, honor and keeping an oath were sacred to the pureblood.

"I have never lied or broken an oath in all my years of existence. The rest will be your choice."

Faing considered him carefully. In fact, Aegir could almost see the gears turning in the skinny, rag covered acolytes head. The air between the two was tense for several moments. Noise drifted from inside the academy, and the former slave turned sharply, looking to see if they were being observed. Aegir followed suite, reaching out with the force but finding nothing within range of over hearing them.

Faing walked over to the rail and leapt up to sit on it. He hunched over resting his elbows on his knees.

His lifted his hooded head to look up at the pureblood.

He spoke curtly, "I swear on my honor as a Warrior, a Sith, and a Hythwynd, I will keep what you tell me to my self."

Aegir grew skeptical when he didn't say anything, until his voice, low to keep from being overheard responded.

"I reprogrammed the training droids to operate without the overseers pass codes. I go in the middle of the night and train while the academy sleeps."

Silence around them, except the wind in trees and animals in the jungle.

"You did what?"

Faing rolled his eyes. "I reprogrammed the training droids. It's not all that difficult. Their operating systems aren't much different from service droids, just functions."

The pure blood let out a huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"Where did a slave learn to do that? Life before servitude?"

"The old house keeper at the Moffs-" He stopped, and looked at the ground realizing what he was saying. "At my former Masters showed me."

The slip up did not go unnoticed, and Aegir filed the information away for a later date. "Have you done the same to food dispensers? Is that how you've been eating enough?"

"I'm not above using a good trick twice."

"Very clever."

"I've barely started."

This time the pure blood did laugh. "By my count you've been in this academy for some time now."

Faing was staring at him in a curious way. "Not everything happens when you want it too. Skill is knowing how to react, and instinct is knowing when."

"You've been paying attention to the instructors it seems, for all the progress it has made you." The sneer was evident.

He pushed off the rail and started to walk away. The frustration radiating outward in waves. What it was directed towards was unclear.

Aegir could sense he was done with the conversation, save for one last response. "I make due with what I've got. You were born with a platinum spoon in your mouth. I had a collar."

__________________________________________

The weeks after the incident in the sparring circle proved both interesting and slightly unpredictable.

Rhagon remained surprisingly quiet. He had been beaten down and humiliated by someone of a lower station. Without a doubt the sith in training was plotting his revenge. The only uncertainty was when he would attempt it.

It goes without saying Faing was noticeably more twitchy than Aegir had ever remembered him to be. The more he combed his memories the more he realized the former slave had always been there, on the fringes of the academy and scraping by under the radar of as many of the staff and students as he could.

Now? Finding him outside of instruction had become next to impossible. It could have been to avoid the inevitable retaliation by Rhagon, or his distrust of the pure blood now that some of his 'secrets' were out. No move had been made by either to converse again.

True to his word, Aegir remained tight lipped about what Faing had revealed to him that night. He never broke an oath once it was made. He certainly wouldn't aid any of the other acolytes either. The slightest scrap of information could give an edge that could prove deadly. The most recent reminder being Rhagons. His defeat and degradation by a person the rest of the academy, overseers included, had deemed unworthy to spit on drove home the point that anyone could be knocked down.

It was on the way to the mess hall, coming from his bunk that Aegir spotted the former slave walking towards him in the empty hall. They were the only two occupants in the shadowy corridor, and Faing made no sign he intended to stop and speak. Aegir let his eyes flit briefly over the rags and hooded head before staring straightforward while walking towards his destination.

They had just passed each other, and the edge of Faings shoulder was disappearing from his view when he heard it:

"The intersection up ahead. Ambush. Theres a lightsaber."

The pureblood fought the urge to turn and stare but maintained his indifferent composure. Though he saw no one, the chance didn't seem worth it for a slip of curiosity or confirmation.

Had he just been warned again? Was he to bother heeding it?

It would not be hard to change course and reach the mess hall via another route, but where would the fun be in that? If someone else was plotting to kill him, they would simply try again when he didn't 'walk blindly' into their trap. Walking into it now that would make them over confident. Overconfidence would be their downfall. Murderous anticipation began to swell inside him. Nothing managed to get his blood flowing more than cutting down those who would stand in his way.

When he got to the intersection, there were three of them waiting. High level students, trained and skilled, but with different armbands from each other. They would not be competing for the same spot but were undoubtedly an alliance formed for self preservation. They were not paying close enough attention, expecting him to come out from another angle. Instead he played on the their blind spot, dashing out from a corner and taking the fools by surprise.

Using his force abilities to enhance his speed, Aegir disabled the light saber wielder first with a burst of energy. The mans head bounced off a marble column with a dull thud. While he was down the other two were quickly dispatched, putting up a good resistance but failing from being caught off guard. The girl screamed, and actually begged for mercy. It was amusing to think she had been truly pleading for it. Aegir enjoyed choking the life from her. A snapped neck handled the second one.

As he crushed the last mans throat under his boot, the pure blood contemplated what would have been different had he not been prepared for the fight. He could have survived. But the lightsaber was a variable he didn't care to take chances with.

It lay on the floor before him now, glinting with promises of violence in it's deactivated state. Reaching down, he gave his new weapon a thorough once-over before attaching it to his belt. Impudent fools.

He grinned wickedly to himself. Faing was not wrong in assuming people disregard what they don't deem important. Aegir couldn't help but wonder what else the former slave over heard on a regular basis. He would know.

This interesting connection with constantly disheveled acolyte was far from over, and it never hurt to be allied with someone adept at eaves dropping.

Interesting indeed.


End file.
